


Not Today

by noctiscorvus



Category: Community, Leverage, Robin Hood (BBC 2006), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Gen, PTSD, Paintball
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiscorvus/pseuds/noctiscorvus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of drabbles and fic(lets) that have no connection to eachother other than ending with ' Not today.'<br/>Spans any and all fandoms and genres.<br/>Why?<br/>Because.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leverage - Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the team, there was the chase.

An original Matisse, Lady With A Hat, valued at more than Nate would make in the next two years, had been loaned to the art museum in Bonn. The IYS was intent on making sure it stayed there till the exposition had closed, the insurance on the frame alone enough to give a man a very nice retirement.

The insurance investigator in charge had set up traps and fail safes for every kind of situation, be it a likely threat or impossible scheme.  
Of course, some criminals were rather resourceful and inventive in ways that very little could stop them.  
Especially if it was Sophie Devereaux.

Red faced, from anger at being duped and embarrassment for the state of undress he was found in, Nate's colleague wasn't much help in giving him any leads, not that he didn't already have a few, knowing Sophie's M.O. almost as well as he knew Maggie's little mannerisms.

He'd tracked one alias to the next, all some variation of well known German actresses this time, working his way across the country to the Netherlands.  
Nate had been discreet in his hunt, he always was, and walked down the hallway of one of Amsterdam's finer hotels with every intention of opening a door and finding his mark lounging by the window, enjoying the view with a glass of aged red wine in hand.

The door opened without a sound, Nate tucking the stolen keycard back into his jacket pocket as he pulled his gun out and silently slipped into the room.  
He didn't close the door, the corridor nothing but a straight stretch to the lift, the only way off the floor.  
Nate took a steadying breath, knowing better than to hope he'd finally catch her, yet still feeling the excited tingle in his gut.

With quick, efficient movements, he pushed into the main room, gun going to each corner before moving through the bedroom and bathroom.  
The tingling had faded, now a buzz at the chase still being on, but it was somewhat hollow, empty, like the room.  
No Sophie, no painting.

He'd also saw the signs, knew his window of catching her before she'd properly flown the coop was rapidly closing.  
Probably already at the docks, he mused, trading his gun in for his phone.  
He'd call in to security, have them check everyone and every piece of luggage that could be a painting.  
It wouldn't yield any results, but he had protocol to follow.

Phone to his ear, Nathan turned, planning to leave the room, when something caught his eye.  
Sitting on the windowsill was a long stemmed glass, a deep, dark red liquid filling it halfway.  
As he approached, the scent filled his nose, black currants and mint and he couldn't help but crack a grin.  
Chateau Lafite Rothschild Pauillac, the King's wine, too bold for Sophie's taste, but then again, it wasn't for her.  
A small taunt, reminder of the close call he'd given her three months prior as he'd reapprehended 8 of the 9 bottles she'd stolen from a French villa, and a hint that he hadn't been that far off this time.

He carefully picked the glass up, no intention of drinking on the job and plucked up the piece of paper that had sat beneath it.  
It was a note, Sophie's familiar handwriting leaving Nate with two words and what he'd been informed of, by Sterling of all people, as hugs and kisses:

'Not today,

\- xoxo'


	2. Avengers - Waking Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the super-hero status, Steve Rogers is still just a man.

Steve let his frame sink into the armchair, the TV playing some decade old film he vaguely remembered liking.  
His day had been tiring, a party where children were running around yelling while being chased by a damned clown honking his stupid horn, till Sharon had noticed his murderous look and quickly confiscated the toy.

He wouldn't have even gone if he still wasn't feeling sore about the last time he and Sharon talked, just to prove her wrong.  
She'd suggested he move in with them or maybe head back to Stark Tower. So he wouldn't be alone, so there'd be someone to watch him.  
He'd scoffed loudly and told her he was fine, fit as a fiddle save a few nights of no sleep and that she shouldn't worry.

A long suffering sigh slipped past his lips. Who was he trying to kid though? He was far from fine. Was honestly surprised he had yet to completely lose his mind and attack that old German lady in the supermarket with boxes of cereal, screaming the enemy had infiltrated base.  
Just thinking of Germans had him squirming in his seat, images of bloody scenes flashing before eyes he had to squeeze shut. He hummed loudly, covering his ears before the screams and cries started up.

The vibration against his ear had him blink, eyes once sharp now staring fearful at the tremors that shook his hand.

It happened quickly after that, as it always did, the flickering of the TV fading to the background, barely registering to his eyes as the hum of the AC became a broken static that his memory warped into ever increasing gunfire.  
His fingers twitched, sweat trickling down his neck despite the cold, frozen plains he found himself on.  
Dust had gotten up his nose again, but there was no time, Bucky grabbing his arm and urging him forward.  
Steve's whole body shook, looking down at the rifle on his lap, Bucky's voice in his head telling him to take it, that soldiers didn't walk into battle unarmed, now pick it up Rogers and get the hell out of the van before we get shot like the sitting ducks we are.

In the distance, the sound of his doorbell became an incoming mortar whistling through the air, his face white and wet with tears and cold sweat as he watched the forward unit disappear in a cloud of flame and smoke. The shrapnel from the mortar flew past him, making the long healed scar on his cheek sting anew, eyes watering as lumps of flesh scattered across the tundra accompanied by a soft red mist.  
The shaking had gone beyond tremors, another mortar ringing through the sky and he managed to control his hands enough to bury his face in them, voice cracked and raw as he whispered through soldiers' dying cries and screams for help, "Not today."


	3. Community - Third Time's A Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will they ever learn that paintball isn't actually improving their relationships with other groups?

Jeff wasn't even sure why he still bothered.  
Dean Pelton's 'fun activities' were always of dubious intent, some ulterior motive behind what had to be a pretty pricey event for a community college. Especially with grand cleaning the place needed after these things.  
He briefly wondered how much the cleaning staff were getting paid, as they still hadn't gone on strike despite the announcement of yet another paintball episode.  
Which was what was absurd about today.  
In retrospect, that actually meant it was normal for Greendale.

"You know, I looked it up." Jeff ducked back down behind the counter, turning so his back was resting against the hard surface, "We're the only college that passes off shooting paint pellets at eachother and the unsuspecting for extra credit."  
"You actually did research?" Britta raised an eyebrow, ignoring the statement in favor of pointing out Jeff's momentary out-of-character moment. And grabbing a cheese sandwich from the counter.  
She wondered why they didn't hid in the cafeteria last year. The kitchen was easy to defend and stocked with everything they needed.  
He gave her an agreeing nod, incredulous expression on his perfectly chiseled face, "I know! What was I was thinking?"  
"That maybe it's a nation-wide occurrence and there's regional-"  
"Abed. You're dead. Shut up." Jeff cut in before the kid could get on a roll. Sadly, Jeff was the only sane person within a mile radius.

"Regionals? We're not singing again are we? My right eardrum is still healing from when Britta caterwauled last time."  
"Oh come on, Pierce. I wasn't that ba-"  
"I get cold shivers just thinking about it."  
"You should pray to Jezus. In the face of evil, he would't care if you're Jewish."  
".. What's caterwauld mean? It's something to do with cats, right?"  
Taking advantage of the silence that followed Troy's question, whether it was 'cause everyone was wondering the same thing or waiting for someone to explain, Jeff pulled himself up to his feet with the help of the counter and glared over the top at the various bodies strewn about the cafeteria.  
"Dead. You're all _dead_. That means no talking. You know why?"  
"If you say because dead people don't talk, that's not true."  
"Inspector Spacetime episode 113, Tall Tales From Dead Men." Abed and Troy shared a fist bump before slumping back to the floor and Jeff could feel the migraine coming.  
"Just. Shut up, okay? You'll give away our position."  
There's murmuring from the Advanced Maths class, all piled together near the door in a colourful heap, but everyone else just ignored them.

Going by how late it was, Jeff figured they had to be some of the last ones standing, but he didn't want to risk roaming the halls to find out. This paintball thing had happened a few times already, someone had to learn how not to get shot by now. This was college after all, where better to learn.  
Jeff nudged Britta with his free hand, causing the blond to pause mid-chew and a look at him, "Go see if there's anyone out in the hallway."  
"You go." She replied, bits of bread flying his way.  
Not hiding his lack of amusement as he brushed the crumbs off clothes, then gestured to his hair, "I got my hair cut this morning, don't wanna risk getting it messed up by some stoner's bad aim."  
"I noticed the new hairstyle immediately. It's an inch shorter." Abed dutifully informed the others as Annie piped up, "What would they be aiming for then, if missing hits our hair?"  
"What do you think?" Pierce made a gesture that had the young woman's face shift to disgust, "Stoners think that kind of thing is funny."  
"If they can think at all." Jeff added before remembering he was going to ignore the supposedly dead, "Anyway, as you probably haven't washed your hair in weeks out of protest for some misguided notion that a government in a country no one has ever heard of will take notice and suddenly be overcome with irreparable guilt and release the leader of an activist group who protested non-biological cotton by walking around covered in sheep wool and what may or may not have been red paint, you can risk getting shot." 

Britta had a full second of looking affronted before, yeah, okay Jeff kind of had a point.  
As she got up, she poked a finger at his chest, causing the man to yelp a little, "And it's not washing hair with products containing Methylisothiazolinone."  
Jeff got back up, rubbing the spot she poked him and gave her cover fire, "And that is?"  
Britta paused, fingers gripping the edge of the counter, and looked back at him with a blink, "I don't know, but it sounds potentially harmful to the enviroment."  
He just nodded, knowing better than to question her further, for both their sakes. One of the Maths nerd didn't and as he went to explain what it was that Britta was avoiding in protest, she shot him. Four times.  
Which was just as well, because the delay in her jumping over the counter had given Jeff enough time to pick up on the sudden change.  
He fired over the counter, paint splattering with eagerness all over the door and wall on the far side of the room, tackling Britta just as a rifle popped out and took a few shots at where she'd been standing just seconds before.

Squished between Jeff and the questionably clean floor, she looked up at him with wide eyes, "How'd you know?"  
Rolling off her, after a moment's deliberate pause because this was Jeff Winger, he grimaced like he'd just caught Duncan wearing the same shirt as him, "Heard them humming."  
As if on cue, and it was the Glee club so you could never be sure it wasn't, tenor voices drifted across the room promising one of them was going down.  
"Is that Sick Puppies?" Britta propped herself up on her elbows, head cocked to hear better.  
"It sounds like a sick goat if you as-Ow! Hey! I'm dead already, you little jerk!" Pierce made an attempt to get up and go after his attacker, but it just resulted in more pellets coming his way, some hitting Shirley, who in turn hit Pierce so he'd lay still and shut up.  
Jeff chanced another look over the top and saw a few glee-kids ducking into the room and hiding behind upturned tables that had been pushed to the sides, while others crouched by the door opening, waiting for their shot.  
He dropped back down and gave report, "We're boned."

The song changed to the a capella version of Victory Is Mine, the words punctuated by potshots, and Jeff had a brief flashback of Sunday school. Which he never went to, but there was this girl on the choir who coul-  
"I don't need to know, Jeff." Britta interrupted his retelling before it got to the part she _really_ didn't want to know and gave him the signal.  
Together, they rose up with a war cry, each dodging to opposite ends of the counter while firing off bullet after bullet, the gleeks taking hits and diving for cover.  
It became a battle of skill and insults, Jeff and Britta mostly doing the latter and shooting the indignant kid that stood up to protest that their uncle Bob was a very nice guy, thank you very much. And every now and then they'd have a close encounter where the songs got rather corny and not being able to resist a taunt about it, the remaining study group members would rise to jest and just barely miss a barrage of paint pellets.

The continuous adrenaline was starting to take it's toll and they finally slumped back into cover, Jeff's head tilted back, while Britta smeared the specks of paint on her face in an attempt to rub it off.  
"How much you got left?" He let his head roll so he could look at her and shook his gun in response. A soft clatter of pellets informed her he was nearly out and she handed him the last remaining clip.  
With they way their opponents sprayed their bullets, it was safe to assume they had plenty of ammo to spare, had probably scavenged the fallen on their way here.  
"They got us." Britta whispered, sounding begrudgingly resigned to their fate.  
And damnit, but Jeff hadn't even wanted to partake in this thing in the first place, but there'd been a requirement of atleast 6 people, Shirley had managed to get a babysitter at the last moment so the group managed to partake at full strength, and they'd managed to bribe him with doing his Biology homework for the next semester.  
He didn't even know what the prize was, didn't want it because it wasn't likely to happen anyway, or it'd require even more effort on his part just to get the Dean to see it through.

But here he was, hair a mess, paint speckles all over his $150 pants, fingers cramping from pulling the trigger so hard and often and feeling a little nauseous from eating too many Ding Dongs.  
Jeff looked at Britta, at the bodies of their fallen study group and reloaded his gun.  
Last clip, last hoorah.  
Jaw clenched, face grim and P!nk's Trouble drifting towards them from seemingly all sides.  
He didn't even look at Britta for a signal this time, eyes forward, steeled for battle, for victory, "Not today."


	4. Robin Hood - The Shade Isn't Always Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some down-time for the merry band of outlaws

It didn't happen often, but there were times when the Sheriff nor Gisborne were up to anything particularly malicious, that Robin and group didn't have to break into Nottingham for a poorly planned rescue or villagers that were suffering anything worse than the outlaws huddled up in the forest.  
And if Robin could be convinced that too much training would have the adverse effect, the lads could take it easy for a day.

It seemed a blessing that on such a day the weather was excellent, warm rays of sun filtering through the treetops and nary a cold wind to be felt.  
Little John had popped down to see his boy and Much had gone off with Djaq to scour the woods for herbs, each for their own reason.  
The rest had brought out the ale, tossed last night's left overs onto the fire and settled into the mossy undergrowth of the forest floor with various means of entertainment.

This was how Maid Marian found them, riding her mare into camp and dismounting as gracefully as ever.  
Will, who was carving a figure out of redwood, glanced up at her arrival. Seeing that she bore no ill news, he offered her a smile and returned to his work.  
Curious of why, of the three men left, it was only Will who acknowledged her presence, she wandered closer to the hunched shape that was Robin.  
Opposite him sat Allan, who finally dragged his gaze up to greet her as she got closer, "Hullo. Come to join in?"  
The light-haired conman gestured to the board that sat between the two of them, black and white tiles with matching stones and Marian finally understood Robin's immense concentration.  
"That's a very nice checkers board." She commented with a smile, dropping to her knees and settling in to watch as the infamous outlaw continued plotting his move.  
Allan wiggled his eyebrows at her, handing over a white piece he'd taken from Robin for her inspection, before leaning back on his hands "Oh aye. And the nobleman who donated it did so with tears in his eyes. It was touching, wasn't it Will?"  
The younger man looked up, a repulsive look on his face, "I think he'd have handed over his wife in exchange for it, if we'd asked."  
A Dale leaned towards Marian conspiratorially, "She looked to be his mum.", then mimed a wrinkly face with a nasty expression that had her laughing.

It was this that broke Robin's concentration, blinking as he stared at Marian for a second before grinning, "How nice of you to join us outlaws, milady."  
"How nice of you to notice me." She replied, instantly waving away the apology on the tip of Robin's tongue, "It's nice to see you boys having fun with something that doesn't end in a horse chase through the woods."  
Will snorted while the other two grinned even more, Robin moving a stone four squares and taking as many of Allan's pieces and thus seemingly putting an end to one of theirs' good mood.  
Damage done, Robin turned his full attention to Marian, cocky grin at half mast and a hint of concern in his eyes because he had to make sure, "So you really did just come by for a social call then?"  
"I was out for a ride and with such weather, I figured why not." Touched by his worry, she patted his hand reassuringly, Robin's palm turning upwards as she pulled away, fingers brushing softly.  
She fought down the blush and nodded at the board to distract Robin, who had a shit-eating grin on his face because of course he knew exactly what he was doing, "Winning then?"  
"I usually do." He shrugged nonchalantly, "Especially when money is involved.", Allan's eyes cut to his leader's face with a half glare before claiming white stones and once again pulling Robin's attention and concentration to the board.

"I thought you gave all the money away?" Marian looked to Allan, who'd slouched back down till he was practically laying on his side.  
"We do, but that don't mean we can't have a bit of fun with it first." He picked up his mug and took a swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and digging the tankard into the dirt a bit so it stayed upright, " 'Sides, it's all about the glory, innit."  
"No glory for the loser, Allan, and that's all you do with this game." Robin's comment would have usually been accompanied by a cheeky grin, but with his attention trained on the black and white board the grin was absent and the words came out sounding much harsher than he meant.  
Marian knew this, it came from growing up with Robin, but she worried Allan would take it serious offence and looked to reassure him it wasn't the case.

Instead, when he saw he had her attention, Allan gestured with his chin to look down.  
Marian caught a flicker of black stones in Allan's hand, eyes darting up to meet his, shining with mischief and a grin on his face to match, "Not today, Robin. Not today."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think I'd write a Robin hood fic with Allan and not let him win?


End file.
